On Having It: Internal and External Ways of Being Human

I have spent a long time observing the people around me, dissecting my feelings toward them, and I’ve reached a singular conclusion. The people I find truly exceptional—the ones I want to keep in my life forever—all possess one thing in common. They have an internal compass.

In my experience, most people place their sense of value outside of themselves. They navigate by the reactions of others, social status, and the comfort of the crowd. Their very will is a byproduct of their environment. To be honest, I find it impossible to truly like them. "Those who do not have it" are perpetually hollow, scavenging the world for something to fill their internal void. Relationships with them are never about connection; they are about extraction. Their decisions never aim for truth, only for a safe, "socially acceptable" consensus.

In contrast, those who "have it" are self-contained. Their "self" is an island—not in isolation, but in independence. They don't see the world as a web of obligations, but as a platform for existence. I am drawn to them. When my axis meets theirs, the friction is electric. Our bond isn’t based on fixing each other's broken parts; it’s an exchange of surplus. Their choices don't converge on a safe middle ground; they radiate outward as acts of expression and discovery. They aren't afraid of the quiet; they don't fear being alone.

To help you understand, let me be specific about how to spot those who lack this inner core. It’s not about talent or status. I used to think that anyone intelligent or "creative" naturally had it. I was wrong. The difference lies in the motive, not the result. You can see their lack in the way they desperately try to harvest stability from the world around them.

They crave validation, emotional echoes, and constant empathy to feel whole. They are obsessed with labeling relationships—calling someone a "friend" or "partner" not out of affection, but to codify a right to extract attention. They dread silence. They are terrified of being disconnected. And the moment a relationship is no longer useful for their self-stabilization, it simply evaporates. They don't mourn the person; they just go hunting for the next source of "fill."

When your compass is external, your life is a series of compromises. If the majority says "this is right," they follow. There is no such thing as a "willful decision," only a surrender to the most likely success. They care about the trophy, never the race.

"Those who do not have it" should probably stick together. Since their void can never truly be filled, they are better off finding a stable way to plug themselves into the social machine. But those who "have it" must be careful. If you want to remain an independent soul, you cannot allow yourself to be consumed. A shallow friendship is fine—you can give them your "leftover" energy. But once you enter a deep dependency with them, you lose your own gravity.

A relationship between two people who "have it" is different. It’s two independent worlds sharing a common space. To me, the "other" is part of the landscape I observe, yet they remain profoundly special. I can love the world just because they exist within it, without needing to own a single piece of them.

Where does this divide come from? I suspect it’s about unconditional love in childhood. We are all born with an internal compass, but many lose it—or have it crushed—early on. Why? Because they were loved "on the condition" that they were good, smart, or compliant. When love is a reward you have to earn, your value becomes a commodity traded in the external market. But if you were loved simply for existing, you never needed the world’s permission to be yourself. Your value is intrinsic.

This one factor—self-love—dictates every choice and every bond. The first ten years of life set the concrete. Once it hardens, it almost never breaks.

And yet, I realize the "hollow" majority is what keeps society standing. Their need for connection creates the glue; their desire for consensus creates the peace. They are the majority for a reason. They provide the stability that allows the "possessors" to be the rare, valuable exceptions.

The hollow suffer from the void; the self-contained suffer from the solitude. One struggles with the density of their own soul; the other struggles with the distance between themselves and the world. We will never truly understand one another. But it is this tension, this balance between the scavengers and the creators, that makes the world work.